


come home to me

by TheEagleGirl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, future book canon, takes place right before the war for the dawn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 03:05:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16400147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEagleGirl/pseuds/TheEagleGirl
Summary: They will always come back to Winterfell.written for the jonsansaweek prompt: Location





	come home to me

She feels weak in her knees the first time she sees Winterfell again. The shape of it is almost exactly how she remembers, her eyes tracing the old lines of her home, watery with unshed tears. From what she has been made to understand, much of it is burned and in disrepair, but she can see the outline of Lord Manderly’s builders against the snowy air, preparing the castle for winter. 

Besides her in the carriage, Wylla Manderly apologizes once more for the sorry state Winterfell will be in, but Sansa cannot answer around the lump in her throat. She doesn’t  _ care _ about the burned towers that are beyond repair, can’t they see? Sansa never thought she’d see Winterfell again.

The knights of the Vale have taken residence in the east towers, preparing for her arrival. She can see the Arryn sigil flying high, a familiar sight after so long in the Vale--but for the first time, flying above it is  _ her _ sigil, a gray Stark direwolf flapping in the winter winds. And she is a Stark, once more. The feeling brings her a measure of relief. No matter what the future brings, she will face it as herself--not Alayne Stone, not a hostage, or a meek little girl. As Sansa Stark.

If Sansa were alone, she would be brimming over with tears. As it is, she shares her carriage with Lord Manderly and his daughter, and must reign herself in.

“Lord Littlefinger awaits us in Winterfell,” Lord Manderly informs her around a swallow. He has been drinking wine to fortify himself on their cold ascent, and his ruddy face betrays him, though his eyes are still sharp. Sansa senses that he may have seen her unshed tears. “He has been preparing for your stay, my lady.”

Sansa nods, before turning back to watch Winterfell grow closer out the window. “And Rickon? He will be situated safely in Winterfell by the time we arrive?” 

“We sent him ahead of us by a moon, so he surely is.”

_ If Petyr has not poisoned him by now _ , Sansa does not say. It is unkind of her to suspect such a thing, and she has never given voice to her suspicions that Petyr poisoned Harry only a few short weeks after their wedding--as he poisoned Joffrey, and pushed her aunt Lysa from the moon door. She knows not the length of his web, nor what tangles it has, but Sansa knows he wants to make her happy, when he can. When it does not ruin his own schemes. Killing Rickon to instate her as Lady of Winterfell would make her decidedly  _ un _ happy, but all Sansa can do until she arrives is pray for her brother’s safety. There has been a knot twisting in her chest, slightly relieved at seeing her home, but will not untangle complete until she holds her brother in her arms again.

“Worry not, my lady,” Wylla Manderly says, rebraiding her hair. Sansa has never seen a girl with  _ green _ hair before. She likes the look of it more than she’d expect.  “Ser Davos Seaworth has been charged with your brother’s protection, and he has Northmen guarding him at all times. We even charged Ser Davos with finding a food taster, before sending him off. The little King must be kept safe, after all.”

Sansa nods, face unchanging, though she is very glad to hear the measures taken to protect her brother. Then she turns back to the window, and watches her home grow bigger in the snow.

 

* * *

  
  
  


She goes to find Rickon the moment she steps off the carriage, insisting upon it before anything else, to the dismay of the servants Littlefinger sent to attend her, as though she’d want a _ bath and food _ before seeing the only family she has left. 

The walls of the castle are warm, and Sansa makes for her brother’s old rooms, ignoring the calls of the servants scurrying after her. She still remembers where to go, she realizes. She thought she might have forgotten.

But when she pushes open the doors, spinning breathlessly into the room--propriety forgotten--it is empty.

“I’ve been trying to tell you, m’lady,” the maid says, once she catches up to a cold, frightened Sansa, frozen in the empty doorway. “They’re not here. They’re in the godswood.”

Sansa feels silly for her paralyzing fear, but only for the few moments it takes to compose herself. “I see,” she says. “Let us go, then.”

She pulls her cloak tighter around her when they enter the Godswood. The snow is swirling down around her, and the wind howling above them, but hemmed in by the old trees, Sansa can’t feel it, only a warm anticipation in her chest.

And then, just before the weirwood is in sight, she sees the wolves. 

Sansa feels weak in the knees again, and this time she lets herself fall, heart beating hard in her chest.  _ Two _ direwolves, one black as coal and one so white she can barely see it against the falling snow. 

“Shaggydog,” she breathes, “Ghost.”

The wolves are upon her between one breath and the next, and Sansa is grabbing burying her face in their fur, inhaling the scent she’d forgotten, after all these years. They’re big, bigger than Lady ever was, and yet Sansa feels no fear. They’re home, after all, just like she is.

“Sansa?” a boy’s voice calls, uncertain. When she looks up, it is as though a younger Robb stands before her, but no, it’s Rickon, and he’s grown  _ too _ . 

“Rickon,” Sansa breathes, and suddenly he’s in her lap, his skinny arms locked around her.

She knows that her guards followed her into the entrance of the Godswood, and thinks that is perhaps the presence she senses to her side, but when she looks up her heart nearly stops. It’s not the guards, nor a servant, or even Littlefinger. 

_ Father? _

It’s not Ned Stark, she realizes, even as the thought crosses her mind. Jon Snow is the very image of their father, somber and dressed in black, with snow in his brown hair. 

“Jon,” Sansa mouths, but she seems unable to actually expel the air necessary to make the sounds. Her mind races in a million directions, flitting impossibly fast from thought to thought. She’d heard he was Lord Commander of the Watch. She’d heard he’d disappeared beyond the wall. She’d heard he was dead. 

Jon walks three steps unsteadily, before falling to his knees before them. “Sansa,” he says, before she pulls him by the cloak into their embrace.

* * *

  
  
  


She hasn’t been so happy in years. Even with the threat of winter, the Others, the whispered tales of a dragon queen making her way through the south, and Lord Baelish’s attempts to get her alone cannot take her happiness from her. She, Jon and Rickon spend all their time together, and Jon even insists on letting Sansa into the war meetings. She will be lady regent, the northmen agree, until Rickon is old enough to take his throne and while the men make north to fight the Others. 

She marvels at Rickon. He’s only eight years old now, but stoic and sharp as a knife. And Jon...they’d never been close before, but Jon is suddenly the pillar that Sansa can lean against for support. It’s been years since she trusted anyone so much, but with Jon it’s almost easy. Perhaps it is because he looks so much like father these days. Perhaps it’s because he reminds her of the way things used to be, when they were all together. Whatever the reason, Sansa is grateful he is by her side.

And she wants him to stay by her side.

“You know I can’t,” Jon whispers one night, hand warm on her elbow as they tuck Rickon in to bed. Their rooms are all right next to each other, as close as the three of them can possibly get at all moments. “The Others are making to come past the wall, and even though I am no longer a man of the Watch, it is my duty--”

“To fight for the North.”

“Yes,” Jon says, looking away. “And if we don’t go, you and Rickon and everyone else in the North won’t be safe.”

Sansa shivers, leaning into his arm. “I feel safer with you here,” she confesses. She’s too close to him, she knows that, but she can’t make herself step away. 

When she saw him first, she thought he was her father come again. But that can’t be true, can it? Jon is taller than their father, leaner. His hair is darker, eyes more intense when they catch on hers. This close, she can see the muscle twitching in his jaw, the stubble he has yet to shave. He’d been brought back to life in fire, and his hands are always warm now, when she seeks them out.

He swallows under her scrutiny, and finally looks her in the eyes. Something tight squeezes in her chest, and Sansa wishes she could poke at it, what makes her feel this way when she’s with him--but she knows that if she puts words to this feeling, nothing will ever be the same. 

“You must be safe,” she tells him. “Come home safe to Winterfell.”

Jon bites back a smile. She can see it, in his eyes. “After having been away so long, this is the only place in the world I’d ever want to be.”

She makes the decision to tilt her head up, place her lips on that hidden smile, tucked between his cheek and the corner of his mouth. For a moment--only a second, in truth--Sansa feels Jon tense against her.  _ This _ is too close to that which she will not name. She lets her lips linger there, and Jon relaxes. She can feel his hand come to her neck, the other one tracing a soft circle on the inside of her elbow. 

When she moves her face away, she stays in his loose embrace. She wants more. She can’t have it, but she wants to press her lips to the pulse at his neck, breathe him in deep before he has to go.   
He’ll come back to Winterfell. He’ll save them all, and come back. When he does, they’ll talk about  _ this _ , and be happy. Together. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this fic, please consider leaving a comment! It's like fic writers lifeblood!


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